Batman Uprising
by FreddyTen
Summary: After his wife Lois is publicly murdered, Superman reaches his breaking point and establishes himself as Earth's one and only dictator. There are those who oppose his rule, such as Batman, who runs a camp for refugees affected by the tyrannical Kryptonian. Nine chapters, three arcs, one war—all leading to an epic duel between a man and a god.
1. Food, Part 1

**Chapter 1 - Food**  
 **Part 1**

 _Three years ago, everything changed. Our hopes… Our dreams… Our very ideas… It all changed three years ago…_

… _when four innocent people were publically executed in Metropolis, in front of millions to see._

 _Two days later, Wayne Tower collapsed. The next day, my secret identity was revealed, and soon everyone knew that Batman was Bruce Wayne. On that day, Superman stood in front of hundreds of reporters and spewed the secrets of the League. Everyone knew that Wonder Woman was Diana Prince, that the Flash was Barry Allen, that Green Lantern was Hal Jordan, that Cyborg was Victor Stone, that the Martian Manhunter was John Jones, and that Superman was Clark Kent. Even non-League heroes at the time were exposed, like Green Arrow._

 _Eight days later, the world got its first taste of Superman's rage. Those four people murdered in Metropolis? They were Jimmy Olsen, Perry White, Martha Kent…and Lois Lane-Kent—four members of Clark's family. Clark had the support of nearly every person on Earth, including mine, but he was too blinded by anger and grief to see it. So, on a normal Tuesday, the skies turned red in Metropolis…_

… _and Superman destroyed the entire city._

 _No one knew why Clark did it. We would never know. But he did it. In nearly one hour, Clark demolished every building in Metropolis. Nearly four thousand people died, and eight million people were left without homes or shelter. Those numbers still confuse us to this very day._

 _After that act, Superman was officially banned from the League. We tried taking him down, but we were no match for him. All those years he'd been holding back his power, and then he was finally letting it all out. He nearly killed Cyborg. He ripped Manhunter in half. Clark had gone insane._

 _Hal said something snappy to him, and Superman reacted in the worst way possible: he blew up Coast City. Hal was touched by fear, and as a result, he lost his power ring._

 _In less than a month, Superman had made himself the supreme ruler of the world. No one dared oppose him, fearing that he would destroy their homes if they did. He built New Metropolis, which became the center of his empire._

 _Then came the apocalypse. Darkseid and his Parademons attacked Earth, and total war broke out. Everything was destroyed. The world had turned into a wasteland. Instead of helping the planet recover, Superman used the opportunity to tighten his iron grip…and all of Earth suffered for it._

 _I'd had enough. The world didn't deserve to suffer any longer. I, along with Diana, Barry, Hal, and a few friends from Gotham, formed a small resistance. We offered refuge to people who needed it—which, needless to say, was a lot of people._

 _We called the resistance…Old Metropolis, in remembrance of everything Superman once stood for and believed in. Old Metropolis has been functional for nearly three years._

 _This is the story of our fight. I am Bruce Wayne. Batman. The Dark Knight._

 _The Superman the world used to know is gone. There's no getting him back. He's been corrupted by fear, pain, and distrust. He must be stopped; Superman's rule must come to an end, so help me God._

* * *

Present Day.

Dust and sand blew everywhere, relentlessly chipping at the camp that was Old Metropolis. Lemon-colored clouds billowed across the gray, lifeless sky. There was nothing but desert and dunes as far as the eye could see. The landscape was simply called…the Wasteland.

Bruce Wayne walked across the camp, wearing a tattered coat, along with a black cloth wrapped around his face, shielding him from the grit. There was no use wearing his signature cowl any longer; the refugees needed to see the _man_ behind the mask.

Old Metropolis was almost the size as a small town. Three thousand people lived in the camp, under the protection of Bruce Wayne himself. Bruce managed to get four actual buildings (albeit tiny) constructed in the camp—one was the mess hall for the refugees to eat in, one was an infirmary, one was the bathhouse, and the last was the Main Office, where the leaders and organizers of the resistance could work.

And since Old Metropolis was a resistance, everyone was afraid that, one day, Superman's regime would find them and burn them to the ground. Everyone…except Bruce. He _knew_ that one day Superman would find them, and he was prepared for that day. Old Metropolis was a home for refugees first and a resistance second, but it was still a resistance, and Superman _hated_ resistance.

The camp barely had enough food and water. Underground, there was a small aquifer, and it was projected to last Old Metropolis for twelve years…if the water was used very, _very_ frugally. Everyone was always thirsty, especially Bruce. He lived off of only one glass of water a day. He only ate one meal: lunch. He paid a food company to secretly drop off any excess food they had in the trucks. Sometimes, the truck brought enough for the refuges to feast like kings. Other times, the truck barely brought any food at all. The unpredictable nature of the deliveries made everyone eat sparingly, for fear that one day they wouldn't get food at all.

Bruce was on his way to the outskirts of the camp, where the truck usually arrived. It wasn't long before the rig emerged from the dust in the distance. Bruce patted his side, making sure that his tranquilizer gun was still in his coat pocket. Old Metropolis's food had come from the exact same person for the last three years, and Bruce _still_ didn't fully trust him. He was carrying the means to the refugees' survival, and if the camp didn't get food, Bruce would've been the first person he'd answer to. What was more, if Bruce hadn't been _paying_ the person in the first place, they would all be starving.

The truck parked to a stop, and slender, middle-aged man hopped out. He also wore a cloth around his face to help protect against the sand, as well as sunglasses. His outfit was camouflaged, as if he was military.

"Mister Wayne," the driver said, giving Bruce a nod.

"Draven," said Bruce.

The two made their way behind the trailer, which the truck had been pulling.

"How are things?" Bruce asked. "Any new develpments?"

"Hey, I ain't up to snuff on stuff like that," Draven said as he opened the hatch. "I just deliver food from New Metropolis over to Gotham. I tell ya, Mister Wayne, the Eyes are looking a little more carefully. It's hard pretendin' the truck's completely unloaded when _they're_ watchin'."

"The…Eyes?" questioned Bruce.

"Yeah. The Eyes. They're these little robots that fly around. Surveillance an' all that. Superman still thinks the resistance is in Gotham, I guess. He's huntin' ya, y'know."

"I know," said Bruce, "and he'll find us, eventually, and when he does, Diana, Barry, Hal, and I will be ready."

"If ya say so," said Draven. "Now, I've got some _bad news_ for ya…"

The trailer opened.

It was completely empty.

Bruce swung his head toward Draven. "Where _the hell_ is the food?" he asked through clenched.

"I— I'm sorry, Mister Wayne. I told you about the Eyes. I… I had to unload it all…"

"Dammit," Bruce muttered. He looked into the empty trailer, then back at Draven. "I'm not gonna pay you for this."

" _Hey now,_ I think I deserve a _li'l somethin'_ for comin' out here. The sandstorms really give the truck a wallop."

"Draven… The refugees _need food._ "

"Y'know what, Bruce? I coulda just chose to not show up at all. The truck's empty, so why bother comin' here? Well, I thought I'd be the man that I am and—"

"Just…shut up, _please,_ " Bruce said, putting his hand up. "The last delivery, you only brought a few loaves of bread. The delivery before that, you only brought seventy cans of soup. Draven, there are three _thousand_ people living in this camp. Each and every one of us is _starving._ "

"A-all right, Bruce, I… I'll do better next time. Promise." He closed the trailer and sealed the hatch.

"See you," Bruce said simply as he started off back to the camp.

Draven climbed into the truck and drove away, off into the sandstorm that was only a few miles away.

The next thing Bruce knew, Barry Allen—also known as the Flash—was walking next to him. "Hey. I saw what happened," he said. "No food?"

"No food," affirmed Bruce. "I… I'm not sure what I'm gonna say to the refugees."

"They'll understand," Barry said with a positive tone. "Stuff like this happens."

"We've often come back with a bare minimum," said Bruce, "but never empty-handed. Hope is slipping away. Superman and his army _will_ find us, and when he does, I'll have to defend Old Metropolis, and to do that, I may have to do something I never thought I would—"

"Bruce, stop talking like that. Look, Hal's in the Main Office. Let's go there and figure something out. We always do."

". . . Okay."

As the two entered the camp, Bruce tried not to look at the refugees. They all looked the same—tattered, worn, beat up, dirty, and skinny. His heart throbbed in his chest as he heard their sobs. For the first time ever, the Bat-Man had come back with no food.

Bruce hated their suffering. They didn't deserve to live this way—all because of one warlord's terrible battle with another warlord. Superman and his army versus Darkseid and his Parademons. It wasn't just a battle, it was an _apocalypse._ Flashes of death and destruction zipped through Bruce's mind.

"Damien…" he whispered.

"What was that?" Barry asked, breaking Bruce away from his short torment.

"N-nothing," Bruce said, cleaeing his throat

The Main Office looked like a large interrogation room. The building contained just one room, and that was the Office itself. The only objects in it were a desk and a few lawnchairs. That was it. Hal Jordan was sitting in his spot at the desk—furthest to the right—sorting through maps. The former Green Lantern looked up as he heard Bruce and Barry walk in. He easily read the expressions on their faces.

"No food?" he asked.

"No food," Bruce and Barry said at the same time.

" _Damn._ So, what're we gonna do? We're all gonna starve if this keeps up."

"Agreed," said Bruce. "I have a plan. I've had it for a long time, actually. It's risky, though."

"Well, what is it?" asked Barry. "I'm willing to try anything at this point."

"I know. That's why…we're going to _steal a food truck._ "


	2. Food, Part 2

A.N.: Well, it's safe to say that the first chapter was a massive success. I appreciate each and every one of you who gave it a shot, and I'd like to give a big "thank you" to the people who reviewed. To those wondering, this is recovered from a previous account, though I intend to finish it this time!

* * *

Chapter 2 - Food  
Part 2

"So what's the plan?" asked Hal.

"Here's what we're going to do…" Bruce said. "Before Draven comes here, he goes to Gotham, which is only _three hours_ from here, if we go by car. He takes the truck to the northern part of the city and unloads it at a market. What I want to do is _intercept_ Draven _before_ he gets to the market—"

"And take the truck," Barry finished.

"Exactly."

"Bruce," said Hal, "I don't think you realize how many _holes_ your plan has. First off, someone's _gonna notice._ We _will_ have some friendlies on our tail on the way back to camp."

"I _know,_ Hal," Bruce said sternly, narrowing his eyes at the former Green Lantern. He turned to Barry and said in a softer tone, "I want _you_ to be the one who drives the truck. Hal and I will stay close behind, warding off any troops that decide to chase us."

"M-me?!" said Barry. "I… I…"

"Can you do it?"

Barry sighed and looked at his feet. "Yes, I can do it," he said quietly.

"We'll take the hummer, then," Hal said. "But y'know… _Two_ vehicles is better than _one._ I could drive the hummer—" He pointed his finger at Bruce. "—and _you…_ "

A small smile crept on Bruce's face. "The Batmobile... Alfred's no doubt been taking good care of the Batcave. It'll be great to finally see him again… The Batmobile would easily help us out."

Barry shrugged. "Hey, if the _Batmobile's_ gonna be guarding my tail, I'll _gladly_ drive the truck."

Hal shot him a glare.

"Oh, sorry, Hal. I'll feel just as safe with you in the hummer."

Hal grumbled something under his breath as he turned his attention back to the maps.

"The food truck goes to Gotham once a week, on Mondays," said Bruce. "That gives us six days."

"Should we leave a day or so _early?_ " asked Barry.

"That'd probably be best," Bruce replied. "It'll give me plenty of time to… _check up_ on things."

There were a few seconds of silence, then…

"I can't believe we're doing this…" Barry mused.

"Why?" asked Hal.

"No, no, I mean… Just think of how _happy_ the refugees'll be when we come back. We won't need food for a _very_ long time."

"Agreed," said Bruce. " _And_ we'll have two more vehicles—the truck and the Batmobile."

"Things are starting to look up," stated Hal.

"Guess so…"

* * *

 **Five Days Later…**

 _This is it. This'll be the most important thing I've done in three years. This'll be the riskiest thing I've done in three years. If this fails, I'll have put Old Metropolis on a long, slow path towards certain death. Stealing a truck filled with boxes of food… This will make me an official criminal. Barry and Hal will be counting on me._

 _Diana… If only you were here. You would tell me that everything's going to be okay. You would erase all worry from my mind. But you're not here. You're back in Themyscira. You're home, with the few remaining members of your family._

 _The tree of us get in the hummer. Hal drives, Barry sits in the passenger seat, and I sit in the back. I pull the cloth down from my face and feel my full beard. If I have time, I'll shave while we're in Gotham. The shaggy beard is the least of my worries, however._

 _We drive off. All three of us are completely silent. We all something to think about. Barry's trying to stay positive. Hal is distant, and he's been that way since his power ring left him. He still acts like the brash, reckless Air Force pilot he once was, but now, he's a man without a cause…or a purpose. He thinks he's useless, and Barry frequently tells him he's not, but Hal doesn't believe him._

 _Hal watched Coast City blow up. His home, gone. As a result, he gave in to fear, and he was stripped of being a Green Lantern._

After being on the road for only half an hour, Bruce finally gave in to sleep. He simply let it happen. He didn't fight it. He didn't tell himself he needed to stay awake. He just fell asleep.

A few hours later, Bruce woke up. Barry was shaking his knee, saying, "Bruce. Hey. Bruce, wake up. We're almost there."

Bruce forced himself to sit up straight, letting out a quit grunt. He looked out of the windshield, his eyes befalling on Gotham City.

 _Gotham… It looks…deformed. Like a child born too early. It's warped, distorted, misshapen…_

There were guards outside the city, no doubt checking people in and out of Gotham. Bruce hid under his seat as Hal stopped for them. He held his breath as they gave the hummer a quick inspection. He couldn't see what was going on, and he dreaded that he would be found. Barry and Hal's faces weren't nearly as recognizable as Bruce's, and their beards and messy hair did well disguising them.

The guards gave Hal the all-clear, and the trio was on the move again. Bruce waited a few minutes before getting back in his seat.

All he could see out of the windows…was festivity.

Everyone looked happy. There were no poor people huddled in the alleys, struggling to keep warm. Instead, the very few people who were in the alleyways were drinking cola or beer, having a good time among friends. There was no fog or smog, giving Gotham a much less gloomy atmosphere. The lights shone almost as bright as Metropolis. Flashy, electronic signs were everywhere. The trio passed a small jazz group, playing on the corner of a block and having the time of their lives. It was evident that they weren't playing for money; they were playing because they loved doing it.

A tear rolled down Bruce's cheek.

 _Gotham… What happened to you…?_

"Wow," Hal said. "Those other Batpeople have really been keeping things in shape. Huh, Bruce?"

"No," he said flatly. "There's something else…"

"What's wrong?" Barry asked him. "Isn't this what you've always wanted for Gotham?"

Bruce bowed his head and closed his eyes. "It's all _fake._ "

* * *

Bruce decided to go his separate ways from Barry and Hal, letting them find someplace to spend the night. The once-billionaire kept his head dipped to the ground, just in case someone looked extremely closely at him and figured out who he was, as unlikely as that was.

Where Bruce was heading was obvious. It was where all the knights of Gotham used to meet—a place that stood the test of time.

He was heading to the Gotham City Police Department building.

Once he was near the building, he slipped into an alleyway, one of the few that still retained a gloomy, troubled nature. He began scaling the wall—albeit slowly. It had been a long time since Bruce had had a true workout. His age was finally catching up to him, and it showed as he struggled to crawl up the G.C.P.D. building.

 _Climb, old man. Climb! You used to do this effortlessly. This used to be as easy as breathing to you. Now look at you._

"Shut…up," Bruce growled to himself. "Go away."

 _Gotham's seen much brighter days since you left. Look at it. It's all sparkly and happy now. You fought crime here for years, and things hardly changed—all because you couldn't step over that line._

"Shut… _up,_ " Bruce snarled.

 _All because you couldn't break your one pitiful rule: no guns, no killing. But then, Superman comes in with an iron fist. He kills Joker. Two-Face. Penguin. Riddler. Poison Ivy. He made Killer Croc his personal bitch. He broke his rule._

"N-no," Bruce said as he nearly slipped. "He wasn't…thinking…clearly…"

 _Oh, but he was! He never went insane. You know that. Diana knows it, too. He meant to tear Metropolis apart. He meant to blow up Coast City._

"No! He was angry. Blinded by—heff…—hatred. Clark would _never_ mean to do those things…"

 _Clark's gone, old man. Everyone knows that. Even you. Why are you even doing this? Stealing an entire food truck? That doesn't stop the fact that he's still gonna find you. And when he does, he's gonna wrap his hands around you…and tear you in half, just like he did with J'onn._

" _NO!_ "

 _I… I… I… I push the voice out of my head. The voice of vengeance… A voice formed by all the tragedies from three years ago. I push it out. I won't let myself get taken over by it._

 _I won't let myself go crazy._

 _I make it to the top of the G.C.P.D. building, finally. I almost laugh at what I see. The Bat-Signal is still there, just as I left it. I'm too tired to get up and walk, so I crawl over to it. I heave air in and out of my lungs. Each breath is easier than the last._

Bruce crawled closer and closer to the Signal. He reached his hand out towards the switch, ready to call Barbara…and Selina. He couldn't see that bat symbol over the glass, but he knew it was there. His hand was so close…

 _Blam!_

A bullet zipped by him, right in front of his face. He flung himself backward.

"You look despicable, Bruce," said a young, male voice. "Heh… But I guess anyone running from the law would."

"Juh… Jason," Bruce muttered.

 _I really am and old man, I should've known he was there…_

Jason Todd. The second Robin.

Red Hood.

"Jason…" Bruce wheezed. "I thought you were…dead… Killed in…the Superman/Darkseid war…"

"Anyone's who cheated death once can cheat it a second time," Red Hood stated, his voice full of attitude. "But you never thought I was dead. You _abandoned_ me. Now stand up."

Red Hood pointed two handguns at Bruce.

"Jason," Bruce said calmly. "H-how did you—?"

"I said _stand up!_ " barked Red Hood.

Bruce scrambled to get up. Once he did, he put his hands above his head. He gave his former protégé a knowing look.

"Put those weapons _down,_ Robin."

" _Shut up!_ Y'know, I thought we restored our previous relationship—the one we had when I was still your bat-brat. I thought we were _friends_ again. When the Joker killed me and my mom… When I rose from the Lazarus Pit, broken, unhinged… I thought I couldn't recover from any of that. You showed me I could, and I did. You reminded me that killing wasn't the way. But when the sky started falling…three years ago…you showed me who you really are: a sociopathic coward. I almost died that day, yes, and you and I both watched Damian die… Then, some rubble fell on me. I called for you. I begged you for help. But you ran away. You abandoned me!"

"That's _not_ what happened, and you know it!"

"In that moment…when you were running away…I realized something. I realized that you were never a hero. You were just a scared, _angry_ little man." Red Hood pointed the guns directly at Bruce's face. "I realized that my way works. Killing works, Bruce. Look around you. This is what you've always wanted for Gotham, right? Superman eliminated so many of the city's enemies, including Joker. It didn't take a guy dressed as a bat to get this done. It took a flying brick with a little heat vision."

"Dammit, Jason, this isn't you! It never was!"

Red Hood tightened his grip on the guns, each finger on the triggers. "Yes, it is. It's who I've always meant to be. Now I get to kill you."


	3. Food, Part 3

Chapter 3 - Food  
Part 3 (Finale)

"Jason, please," Bruce breathed. "Before you kill me…take off your mask. I want to see your _face_ as you do it, just like how you're seeing mine. Please."

Red Hood exhaled through his nose. ". . . Fine." Without even touching it, his helmet collapsed and slid, going to the back of his neck, and Bruce saw his former sidekick's face.

"Jason… My god…"

A giant scar dominated Jason's face, as if someone had taken a dull blade and carved a diagonal line from his left temple to the right side of his chin. His black hair was short, but even, like he'd cut it himself. His skin was pale and as white as snow. Dark circles overtook his lower eyelids, and his eyes themselves were bloodshot. Overall, Jason looked terrible.

"I've been waiting a while for this, Bruce," the young man said. As he talked, Bruce slowly crept his hand into the inside pocket of his trenchcoat… "A long, _long_ while. You never cared about me. You never cared about _anyone._ That's why you abandoned Gotham. You didn't run just so you could 'ensure the city's safety'. You were just afrai— _Gah!_ "

Bruce whipped his tranquilizer gun out of his pocket and immediately fired it at Jason. The dart penetrated the skin of his cheek. He gave Bruce a dumbfounded look, then his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell like a tree, out for the count.

Bruce got back on his feet and walked over to Jason's sleeping body. "If you ever think I would intentionally leave you," he said, "then I have truly _failed you,_ Jason."

He put the tranquilizer back in his trenchcoat and made his way over to the Batsignal. He pulled the switch, causing sparks to fly everywhere. The Signal fought and chugged like an old train until it finally put Batman's signature emblem up against the sky.

A cold wind rushed past. It was a wind of change… Of pain… Of endurance… Bruce knew full well what he'd just done by turning the Batsignal back on. It was almost as if he had said, "Here I am, Superman. Come and get me."

And then…silence. The sounds of traffic disappeared. The soft jazz music in the distance stopped. Bruce knew that every person in Gotham was looking up to the sky, beholding the symbol of the Bat-Man.

Then, Bruce turned the Batsignal off. Soon the noise of the city returned.

"Surprised to see _you_ here again," said a voice, this one female.

Bruce turned to see Catwoman standing a couple feet from Red Hood's unconscious form. "Selina," he said.

She pulled up her goggles, giving Bruce a clear view of her green eyes. "Bruce."

". . . Everything's so _different_ now," he said, looking off into the distance again. His gaze fixed on Gotham's skyscrapers. "I've been gone for so long. Nearly three years… Do you…remember the Superman/Darkseid war, Selina?"

"Heh, like it was yesterday," she replied. "That was something _no one_ will forget."

"Yes. The final battle of the war was here—directly above Gotham. We lost so many allies that day. Damian. Jim."

"Batman," Selina added.

He bowed his head, shame clouding over him. "Bruce Wayne fled the city, into the newly formed desert. I created Old Metropolis."

"How are things going there?" Catwoman asked.

"Poorly. We're starving. We're thirsty. People are starting to lose hope."

"So what brings you to _Gotham,_ then?"

Bruce looked Catwoman straight in the eye. "I'm here to steal a food truck."

The crimefighter gawked. "What is that, Bruce, a _death wish?_ "

"Maybe. But I have to try. Those refugees are my responsibility. They lost their homes to the war. We have people from Metropolis, Coast City, Star City, Central City… The number of people gets smaller every day. The camp needs—"

"Shhh." Catwoman sauntered over to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. "You're such a worrywart. You've always been. You just need to take a deep breath and realize that everything will be okay."

"You sound a lot like Flash."

"That speedy boyscout? Never."

"How are things with _you?_ "

"Pretty well. We're still low on water, like everyone else. Crime's down. Sometimes there'll be a random mugging or a car chase, but those are easily taken care of. It's weird… Gotham used to be the worst place on Earth. Now it's one of the best. It and New Metropolis."

"New Metropolis is nothing but a giant testament to Superman's rule, Selina. I've seen it, before the war. I can only imagine what it's like now."

"You still wanna bring Superman down, don't you…"

"I don't know, Selina. But there _will_ be a day when he and I find ourselves face-to-face." Bruce sighed. "I… I have to go, Selina. I'm headed to the Batcave, to get supplies and bring them to Old Metropolis."

"But…so soon?" Selina asked, moving in front of and looking up at him. "I had hoped we could… _catch up._ I've missed you, Bruce."

"And I've…missed _you,_ Selina. Maybe someday…we can bring back what you and I had before the Metropolis murders."

"I could go to the camp _with_ you."

"Negative. You're needed here."

Catwoman pushed him back, causing him to stumble for a few feet. "You're still the _same,_ Bruce. You're still so… _ignorant!_ You're so _afraid_ of letting yourself get close to people!"

"Selina, no, I… I just want you to be _safe._ "

Catwoman scoffed. "Whatever. I'll see you later, Bruce. Good luck. You'll _need_ it…"

She twirled off the roof, disappearing into the conurbation.

 _Goodbye, Selina…_

* * *

 **Later…**

Wayne Manor was only a couple miles out of Gotham. Bruce figured it would take forty-five minutes to walk there; he didn't want to risk anything by taking a cab. Why would a homeless-looking person want to go to Wayne Manor anyway? Bruce chose the safe way.

He walked in silence, keeping his eyes either ahead of him or on the ground. His lips were pursed, and his eyebrows glowered, as he listened to the demonic voice in his head:

 _You used to be the king of this town! "All hail the king!" "All hail the Bat-Man!" Joker was called the Clown Prince of Crime. "Prince." Prince, because you—Batman—were the king. You both were tearing the city apart. Now you're afraid of Gotham. You feel betrayed by it. Betrayed…because Gotham became this way through death and destruction._

 _You're being a real bitch about this, too. Gotham is finally happy and bright and colorful, and you have the stones to go on thinking that it's fake._

 _Well, Batman, it's a hundred percent real._

" _SHUT UP!_ " Bruce roared.

He looked around, breathing heavily, as if he just woke from a nightmare. The sun was finally peeking out through the sandy horizon. Bruce figured he had an hour left before Barry and Hal intercepted the food truck. He ran his fingers through his beard, wiping out any dirt that got in it. He looked at the opposite horizon—the one that was darker. He could see the silhouette of Wayne Manor in the distance, only a third of a mile away.

Soon, Bruce made it. Without the lush greens surrounding it, the Manor looked like a haunted mansion sitting atop a desolate hill.

The gate was open, and the front doors were unlocked, so Bruce went in without knocking.

". . . Alfred?"

The entire house was incredibly dusty, as if no one had been inside it for months. It was still furnished, which gave Bruce a little hope.

"Alfred?"

Bruce found it odd that his butler was nowhere to be seen.

"Alfred!"

Bruce made his way to the study, which held one of the entrances to the Batcave. Maybe Alfred was down there, Bruce thought. He approached the piano and played three seemingly random notes. Then, the bookshelf opened, revealing a hidden elevator. Bruce went in.

As he entered the Cave, he immediately picked up the sound of someone typing on a keyboard.

"Alfred!"

Bruce dashed to the Batcomputer, but instead of his butler Alfred…

…he saw Barbara Gordon. Batgirl.

"Batman…?" She looked over at him, then gasped, putting her hands over her chest. "Bruce!"

She leapt out of the chair and ran over to Bruce, throwing her arms around.

"It's good to see you, Barbara," Bruce said quietly, just as elated as her. "I… I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Bruce. I thought I'd never…get to see you again." She broke away from him, looking up at him with a smile.

Bruce looked around and the Batcave. Barbara had been taking good care of it, evidently.

Barbara's smile faded as she read the look on his face. "You're not staying, are you, Bruce."

"Where's Alfred?"

She sighed, trying to put her smile back up. "You haven't heard… Makes sense, I gue—"

"Haven't heard _what?_ " he demanded, looking back at Barbara with uneasy eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Bruce… A year and a half ago, Alfred passed away."

* * *

Barry and Hal were at the location—the market at the north end of Gotham. They were hanging out behind the store, waiting for Draven and the food truck to arrive. Hal was curled up on the pavement sleeping, while Barry stood diligently, waiting…

"Hal!" Barry whispered, shaking the former Green Lantern's arm. "Hal! Wake up! The truck's coming!"

"Wwwhuzzat?" said Hal groggily. "Whuh's goin' on?"

"The _truck's_ coming! He's early, too! Get ready!"

The truck stopped in the middle of the side parking lot. Draven, the driver, got out and lit up a cigarette, and he started to smoke.

"You're up, Hal," Barry whispered. "Just do it exactly how we discussed."

"All right, all right, I got it," Hal said, still sleepy. "Here I go."

The pilot stood up and coolly strolled to Draven and the truck. Draven gave him a confused look as he watched this total stranger approach him.

"Hi there," Hal said in a casual, friendly tone. "You're a smoker, huh?"

"Yep," said Draven, shrugging. "I like to get here early so I can have a cig before the Eyes arrive. You know the Eyes, right? Little robots for surveillance?"

"Yeah," said Hal. "I, uh… I _hate_ those things. Say, uh… How much food you got in that trailer?"

"Eh, enough to feed a small town. Er, _probably,_ anyway. Why do ya ask?"

"Oh, you know, just… Woo-wee, you know? I am just _famished._ "

Hal was standing close enough to him. He thrusted his fist forward, punching Draven straight on the forehead. The driver was knocked out instantly. Hal put him over his shoulder and carried him to behind the store, where Barry was.

"We should get going. _Fast,_ " said Hal. "Before the Eyes get here."

"What are 'the Eyes'?" Barry asked.

"Surveillance robots, most likely made to find _us._ So we need to _move._ You get in the truck and start heading out. The hummer's just a few blocks away, so I'll catch up with you and meet you as you're leaving Gotham. . . . Go!"

Barry ran to the truck (at a normal speed) and hopped in. The keys were still inside. Immediately after igniting the engine, Barry pressed his foot on the pedal and got on the road.

* * *

 **Outside Gotham…**

The Batmobile zipped through the sand like a speedy snake. Bruce gripped the steering wheel hard, struggling the keep the vehicle steady. Hal once described the Batmobile as "a tank crossed with a sports car crossed with Batman himself".

A deep scowl had overtaken Bruce's shaven face. A darkness dwelled in his eyes, and a raging fire blazed in his soul.

Barbara was trying to talk to him through the communicator. "Bruce, I know you're upset, and you have every right to be, but you're going to _do something insane!_ When my dad died, I had that same anger, but you helped me through it. You helped me _grow_ from it. Please, Bruce, Alfred would want you to _think—_ "

Bruce turned off the comm. He stomped his foot on the gas, blasting the Batmobile through a sand dune.

Meanwhile, Hal kicked the hummer into gear and raced forward. Barry was only a few yards behind him. They charged through the barricade blocking the exit of the city, causing numerous guards to leap out of the way. Barry and Hal were in the Wasteland. They could only hope that Bruce was close behind.

Hal moved to the side and let Barry go ahead of him. It wasn't long before three military vehicles rose from the sand like snakes and chased them.

"Here we go," Hal muttered to himself as he took out his pistol. He stuck his head out of the window and fired at one of the vehicles. He shot the window, but the bullet bounced off the glass, barely leaving a scratch. "Dammit…"

A soldier dressed in a black uniform rose from the sunroof and fired at Hal with an automatic rifle.

"Shit!" he yelled as he heard multitudes bullets raining on the back of the hummer. He quickly fired his gun, hitting the soldier in the gut.

" _Hal!_ " Barry screamed. "Stop that!"

"They're Supes's _flunkies,_ Barry! _Nothing_ can kill them! Not when they're pumped full of super-juice or whatever!"

"It's a serum that enhances the strength of muscle, bone, tissue, and skin!"

"Yeah, that! You could light 'em _on fire_ and they'd walk away from it! Bullets hardly do anything!"

Suddenly, a giant explosion erupted behind them, flinging the three military vehicle into the air. From the smoke emerged the Batmobile…and six more vehicles.

It looked as if the soldiers had completely forgot about the food truck. They were unloading everything they had on the Batmobile—guns, grenades, small sticks of dynamite… The Batmobile soaked in everything like a sponge with water. Bruce suddenly juked the Batmobile to the left, colliding with a vehicle and flinging it in the air. It fired its turret at the vehicle in front of it, causing the back to crumple up like paper and blowing out the tires. The trashed vehicle rolled on the ground and tumbled into another one.

Three down, three to go. The Batmobile's engine roared as it lurched forward. At its sides were two mini-cannons, each having slightly less power than a standard rocket-propelled grenade. The Batmobile made a 180-degree turn while still moving ahead, like an ice skater. Bruce fired both cannons, effortlessly bringing two vehicles to flames. Only one to go…

The Batmobile rotated itself back around so it was facing forward. Bruce slammed his foot on the brake, bringing it to a complete halt. The vehicle behind it slammed into the back of the Batmobile, flattening its front like a crushed soda can.

Bruce looked forward. The food truck was completely gone. He eyes instead fell upon hell itself.

He was at the edge of the Red Zone.

The Red Zone was the most hellish part of the Wasteland. To have called it an eternal sandstorm would've been an _understatement._ Inside the Zone were multiple sand tornadoes, intense lightning, scorching heat, extreme cold, and so much sand that it could've made someone _suffocate._

Barry and Hal were no doubt in the Red Zone. They had no choice; it was the only way back to Old Metropolis. Given the weight of the food truck, Bruce deduced it would be all right, but the Batmobile was significant lighter than the semi.

Bruce made his first mistake. The totaled vehicle behind him was still pressed against the Batmobile. Bruce activated the rockets on the back of the car, ready to go through the Red Zone at a blistering speed. As the rockets ignited, the military vehicle exploded covering half the Batmobile in flames. Bruce yelled as he felt himself instantly accelerate forward. The back of his head hit the chair, and stayed there due to the force. An alarm immediately went off, alerting Bruce of the Batmobile's extensive damage. The self-repair system had been completely taken out by the explosion.

The Batmobile looked like a fireball as it entered the Red Zone. Immediately Bruce felt it being bombarded by sand and wind. It was called the Red Zone because that's what it was. Red.

Already Bruce could feel the Batmobile rising into the air, toward a gigantic cyclone… He yelled as he tried to stop it and point himself back towards the ground. It was no use. The Batmobile continued to rise into the air as if it was an airplane.

" _Gaaahhhhh!_ "

In a desperate move, Bruce turned off the rockets. It seemed to have been a big mistake, as the Batmobile began twirling in the air, but Bruce had a plan. He always did. It was what he was best at.

Even as the Batmobile was spiraling in midair, high above the ground, the nose was gradually tipping downward. After waiting a few seconds, Bruce turned the rockets back on. The Batmobile began fighting against the wind, and it slowly started diving towards the ground.

* * *

 **At the Camp…**

Barry and Hal hopped out of the truck, exhausted. It had been so long since they had seen that much action. Barry chuckled and pointed off into the distance. Hal grinned. From the horizon emerged the Batmobile.


	4. Jokes, Part 1

Chapter 4 - Jokes  
Part 1

 _No one knows who killed Lois Lane-Kent, Martha Kent, Jimmy Olsen, and Perry White._

 _The four of them were dangling in the heart of Metropolis, where all could see them hanging there, helpless. Then, each of them was struck by two arrows—one in the heart, one in the head. Arrows… They were long-distance shots. People looked everywhere for the killer, but he, or she, was nowhere to be found._

 _Twenty-three seconds later, Superman finally arrived. He actually_ _ **fell to the ground**_ _from the sight of them. The four people closest to Clark Joseph Kent—massacred. Out of anger and despondency, Superman removed the arrows and burned them with his heat vision, destroying the most crucial evidence to the case._

 _As Clark grieved, the rest of the Justice League was naturally asking, "Who was the killer?" We knew what was at stake. We knew what would happen if Superman lost control. He needed closure as fast as possible. Unfortunately, Green Arrow came up on the list of suspects. He was quickly removed, since he was with Flash and Green Lantern at the time of the murder._

 _We left Superman behind and spent the next two days hunting down all the bow and arrow-wielding villains we knew. Then, I got a call from Alfred._

 _Wayne Tower had been destroyed._

 _And the rest is history._

* * *

 **Themyscira.  
** **Present Day.**

Diana of the Amazons stood atop a hill, overlooking the port. The gray sky and lemon-colored clouds had reached Themyscira as well. Usually, the ports were met with clear, cool water, but now, it was completely dry. What was once the sea was now a desert.

"Bruce…" Diana whispered to herself. "This is no world to raise a _baby._ "

She ran her hand along her round stomach. Feelings of joy and desperation switched back and forth on her. She had always wanted a child, and she was having it with the man she loved most, but a baby didn't deserve to grow up in times of hate and death.

Diana smiled as she felt the baby kick. "It's almost time…"

The baby gave another kick, causing Diana to stagger. Just before it seemed like she would fall, a pair of hands grabbed her by the shoulders, steadying her.

It was one of her fellow Amazons. "My Queen," she said, "let us get you back to the palace."

"Yes… Yes, let's."

"Weeeeell, lookie here!"

"The guy just _doesn't_ give up."

Barry and Hal heard the roar of the Batmobile's engine as Bruce got closer and closer. It had lost its black color and had turned into a light brown, thanks to all the sand. The Batmobile skidded to a sharp halt only a few yards away from the two.

Barry and Hal started applauding as Bruce hopped out of the vehicle. He gave them both a sullen look and didn't return their smiles. He walked right past them and approached the trailer. He undid the hatch and opened the doors, revealing what was inside—multitudes of boxes.

Boxes of _food._

Bruce turned to Hal and asked flatly, "Where's the hummer?"

Hal blinked. "Um. It got…swept up in the Red Zone. Sorry. It just wasn't heavy enou— Okay, do you not see all that food behind you?"

"Get all of this charted," Bruce instructed. "Then put everything back in here when you're done."

Hal scoffed. "You want us to take all of that stuff _out,_ write down what it is—"

"And write down the quantity."

"—and put it all back _in?!_ "

Bruce gave him a staid glare. "Yes."

Hal threw his hands in the air. "What the hell's going on? We got all this food for the camp and you're not one bit _happy?_ "

"Are you talking _back_ to me, Jordan?"

". . . 'Jordan'? Wh-what—?"

"Just get the truck to the Main Office and get it all charted there. That is an order."

"An 'order'? You are _not_ the boss of me. We run this thing _together,_ Bruce! The three of us!"

"Hal, please…" said Barry.

"Look, I know what you saw in Gotham made you sad, Bruce, but that _doesn't mean_ you can just boss us around like we're—"

" _That's enough,_ Hal!" Barry yelled.

Bruce shoved Hal out of the way as he made his way back to the Batmobile. He climbed in and started the engine, and, within two seconds, was on the move, going at full speed.

"Where's _he_ headed?!" Hal demanded.

"Let's just leave him alone for the time being," suggested Barry. "Something else must've happened when we were in Gotham. Something _personal._ "

"Well, I wish he would _talk_ to us about it instead of treating us like _crap._ "

Barry started walking to the truck. "C'mon, Hal. Let's just do what he says. I'll help."

"Ooh, that'd be _great…_ if you were still connected to _the Speed Force,_ that is."

"Hey, I still have some residual powers," Barry said. "I'm just saving them for when I _need_ to use them."

". . . You're not gonna use them, are you," said Hal.

Barry smiled. "Nope."

"I hate you."

* * *

 **Gotham City.  
** **Hours Ago…**

"Hey, lookit _that!_ "

"Is that the Batsignal?"

"What does it mean?"

"Is Bruce Wayne back?"

"Huh? _Batman?_ "

"Look! The Batsignal's turned on!"

Every walking pedestrian of Gotham looked to the sky. Shining brightly against the clouds was the Bat-Man's signature emblem. The Batsignal had been turned on.

In Crime Alley—which had previously been a slum but was now only a dirtier version of the rest of the city—a middle-aged man in a green hoodie sat at the side of a dumpster, where no one could see him. He looked up, seeing the same thing everyone else saw. Batman's symbol, peeking out from the gap between the two buildings.

The man's face was taken over by a wicked grin, and he said in a scratchy, silly voice: "Now _that's FUNNY!_ "

The man pulled down his hood, revealing his bleached skin, blood red lips, and scraggly green hair. He pulled a revolver out of his hoodie pocket and dashed out of the alleyway.

The man jumped in front of a couple strolling down the sidewalk. He pointed the gun at them and said, "Stop me if you've heard this one before!"

 _Bang! Bang!_ He shot the couple before they even had time to react. He danced over their bodies, laughing hysterically. "Ha ha _ha!_ Sometimes I just _kill_ me!"

He ran down the street, firing his weapon at anything that moved. Eventually a police car pulled up, its red and blue lights flashing. Still laughing, the man shot through the window, killing the cop in the passenger seat. The cop who was driving leapt out of the car and pointed his gun at the man.

" _Freeze,_ or I _will_ shoot you!"

The man giggled. "Oh, I'll _freeze…_ Right after I…freeze _you!_ Ha ha!"

He pulled the trigger, but nothing came out. He pulled it again. Nothing.

"Rats! _Phooey!_ I'm all outta _bullets…_ "

The cop fired, hitting the man's leg. He let out a yelp of pain as he tumbled to the pavement. The policeman got up and put his gun back in his holster, then got his handcuffs. As he approached the man, he began giving him his rights, then cuffed him.

The usually quiet halls of Blackgate Prison were now filled with the man's undulling voice. "A copycat?! I'm not a _copycat!_ I'm the real deal, baby! I'm _the Joker!_ Check the _tags_ on my shirt! Hee hee! Oh, wait… You confiscated it!"

The two prison guards escorted the "Joker" to his prison cell. They uncuffed him and shoved him inside, never speaking a word. The closed the door, creating a loud clang.

"H-hey, guys?" said the Joker. "It's kinda dark in here! Mind turning on the lights?"

The lights came on.

"Ahhh… Much bett—"

A gloved hand grabbed a mass of Joker's green hair and slammed his head on one of the legs of the metal bed. Joker's body flopped onto the floor, dizzy.

"Oof… Well, _this_ seems familiar. Please tell me that this is what I think it is."

"No," said a deep, masculine voice. "It's something much _different,_ my friend. My name is Commander Slade Wilson, and you're going to answer some questions for me."

"Oh, _goodie…_ " Joker mumbled.

* * *

 **Well, this marks the story's halfway point. I just want to thank everyone who's reviewed, and I especially want to thank those of you who have followed and/or favorited** _ **Batman: Uprising**_ **. This story is an utter joy to write, and I'm glad I finally had the guts to start writing it. Stay tuned; there's a lot of twists and turns (and a surprise ending!) to come. This has inspired me to start other projects as well, so please be on the lookout for that.**

 **See you next chapter!**


	5. Jokes, Part 2

Chapter 5 - Jokes  
Part 2 (Finale)

"Give it to me, Wilson—what's on your mind, hmmm?"

"First of all, how _the hell_ are you still alive?"

"Ohhh, so you believe me when I say that I'm _the Joker!_ "

"Talk. Now."

Joker made himself comfortable on the cell bed, while Deathstroke leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. Joker couldn't help but chuckle.

"I feel you giving me the ol' stink-eye there, Slade. 'Eye', not 'eyes'. Hee hee!"

"Shut the hell up and answer the question," snarled Deathstroke.

"Which one? I can't do both! Ha ha ha h—!"

Deathstroke unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the base of Joker's throat. "How. Did. You. Survive?"

The Clown Prince smiled contently and closed his eyes in reminiscence. "It's a funny story, really. It all began with Superman. Yes. It all began when Superman appeared the TV and explicitly stated, 'I am going to kill the Joker!' So I thought to myself, '. . . Well, _bullocks,_ I don't want to die!' so I called up a friend of mine. Hee hee hee…"

"Who? Who did you call?" Deathstroke demanded.

"Oh, a very _special_ friend, Slade—one who's helped with a _plethora_ of schemes! He's a big star, don't you know. He's been in several classic movies! Ever heard of _The Terror_? They were actually going to _remake_ it, but somehow, all the cast and crew seemingly _died!_ "

"You smart son of a bitch…"

"Basil Karlo—acclaimed actor turned _homicidal maniac!_ Hee hee! He has this ability that lets him assume people's appearances and personality! An expert impressionist, if I do say so myself. I contacted him, and I said, 'Hey, Basil, how would you like to have the role of a lifetime?' Ha ha ha hahaha _hahahaaa!_ "

Deathstroke picked Joker up by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the wall, and the Clown Prince could only laugh more.

"So… So… Hahahaaa! Cuh…Clayface—hee hee hee…—he takes my place… Ha haaa… He takes my place and pretends to die from Supes's heat vision! And he did _wonderfully!_ Right down to my dying smile! He made the giant hole in my chest look so _real!_ And you all fell for it!"

"Then after that…?" Deathstroke growled.

"Hmmm? Oh! Yes! This is the funniest part of the story! I've been in hiding for three years! Three years, Slade! Three! Three years without a bank to rob, or a reservoir to poison, or a bat to play with! For three years, I was a law-abiding citizen! You're probably wondering, 'How could _the Joker_ go three _years_ without committing a single crime?' It wasn't easy, I'll tell you that. There were days when it was _especially_ hard. There was this one time when Batgirl drove by me in the Batmobile, and, ohhh, how _badly_ that made me want to _shoot_ someone! I just wanted to be me again… But I had to keep going, because if I didn't, Clayface's stand-in would have been pointless! I needed to wait…so that I could tell the greatest joke _of all time!_ Haaahahahahahahahahahaha!"

Deathstroke choke-slammed Joker onto the floor. "You piece of shit."

"How did— Ouch… How did you know that I love compliments? Ha ha!"

"What's stopping me from gutting you right here and now? So you killed a few people today. So what? That's nothing compared to all the things you've done in the past. And you've been a good boy these past couple years, so if I kill you now, it'll be as if the Emperor really did kill you three years ago. And… I've always wondered… Do you bleed _green and purple…_ or do you bleed _red?_ "

"What are you talking about? I bleed _love,_ Slade!"

Deathstroke found his sword near the wall and grabbed it, then positioned it above Joker's head. "I shove this through your brain, and it's all over. Get read—"

"Wait! Wait I tell you!" Joker pleaded. "I have information!"

Deathstroke scoffed. "Heh. What kind of information?"

" _Important_ information! I know where he is!"

"You know where _who_ is?"

"Batman! I know where Bats is!"

"He's _dead!_ "

"Oh, far from it! Because tonight, for the first time in three years, the Batsignal was turned _on._ "

Deathstroke paused. Eventually, he sheathed his word and stood up, freeing Joker from his grip. "Talk, clown."

"Okay, okay. But first…I want you to _promise_ me something…"

". . . And what's that?"

Joker's grin became that much more sadistic. "Ohhh, just that you'll let me _tag along._ " Then, a flash of evil sparked in his green eyes, and he started laughing. "Hmhmhmhmhmhmmm… Heh heh heh heh heh heh… Haaahahahaha! Gahhh ha ha ha ha ha ha ha _ha haaa haaaaa!_ "

* * *

 _Alfred… Why do I push people away?_

Bruce leaned against the front tire of the Batmobile, staring off into the distance. All he could see was the flat, sandy horizon, where there was nothing between the gray sky and the ground.

 _I was ten when it happened—when Mom and Dad were murdered before my eyes, something no ten-year-old deserves to see. Ever. But you were there, Alfred. You were with me after it happened, holding me, and whispering to me, "It will be all right, Bruce." But I was…angry. My parents were dead. If only I hadn't forced Mom and Dad to take me to that damn movie… But…it was the last thing we ever did together, and we were…happy. Mom always loved films. Whereas her heart was to the screen, Dad's was to the stage. He loved operas._

 _You took me to movies and operas whenever I wanted, Alfred. I was scared that I would forget everything about Mom and Dad if we didn't. Even now, I remember mostly everything, except some small details, like, was it Mom who carried around that lucky coin, or was it Dad?_

 _I… You became my father when no one else could, Alfred. That is—and always will be—the bravest thing I've ever seen anyone do. You were my family then. And Alfred… I just want to say… I want to say that I lov_

Engines. Bruce could hear engines. They were very faint, but he could hear them nonetheless. Engines… Why would there have been—?

"No…" Bruce said. "The camp… The refugees… No! _No!_ "

Bruce lunged into the Batmobile and drove away, towards Old Metropolis. He kept telling himself, nothing was happening. Everything would be okay.

"Superman hasn't found the camp…" Bruce whispered, as if saying it would make it true. " _Superman hasn't found the camp._ "

* * *

 **Themyscira.**

Diana let out a pained cry, putting her hands over her belly. "Tatya!" she yelled. " _Tatya!_ Come h-here! Please!"

A tall, blonde woman burst through the doors to the throneroom, running straight to her queen. "Your Grace! I'm here, Your Grace. Is— Is the baby coming? What's happening?"

Diana grabbed Tatya's arm, squeezing it tightly at the wrist. "Tatya… Please…t-take my jet and fly to Old Metropolis. I… I need Bruce. I need him here… He n-needs to be here…"

"Yes, my queen!" She jolted out of the throneroom, with many Amazons coming into take her place and comfort their queen.

* * *

 **Old Metropolis.**

Barry and Hal could only stand in astonishment as nearly a dozen military vehicles poured into the camp. Whereas Barry's face was full of despair, Hal's was full of anger. He balled his hands into fists as he watched exactly sixty soldiers pour out of the vehicles, pointing their guns and screaming at the dirty, poor refugees.

A smaller vehicle parked in front of Barry and Hal. The driver and passenger doors opened, and out crawled Deathstroke and the Joker.

"Well, hello there, boys!" Joker said to the duo, still in his jail attire. "Miss me? 'Cause I've missed _you!_ Ha!"

"J-Joker…?" said Barry.

"What do you two want?" Hal demanded. "What's going on here?"

"We're taking over this place," Deathstroke said in such a casual tone that it almost seemed like he barely cared. "And to make a couple arrests."

"Well, _he_ is," Joker interjected, "but I'm not. I'm here for a little family reunion with Bats! Would either of you happen to know where he is?"

"Hey, clown," Deathstroke said. He pointed at something in the distance. "Look what's coming our way."

"*Gasp* Could it be…?"

Raging towards them was the Batmobile. Laughing hysterically, Joker started power-walking towards it, like someone ready to reunite with their best friend.

"The Batmobile's not slowing down…" Barry said.

Suddenly, the Batmobile made a ninety-degree turn, but kept moving forward, like it was sliding. Joker smacked into its side, flopping to the ground and skidding back to Barry, Hal, and Deathstroke. The Batmobile stopped on a dime, and Bruce leapt out. Where Hal was only angry, Bruce was filled with _pure fury._ He had forgotten about the engines he heard. He didn't even see Deathstroke.

There was only the Joker.

"How are you still alive?!" Bruce demanded. "You died! I saw your body!"

"Muh…Mommy, is that you…?" Joker asked in a quiet, dazed tone. "Oof… That hurt… You actually did it, Batman. You ran me over! Heh! But how about we just blame it on the poor traction, eh? There sure is a lot of san— _Eugh!_ "

Bruce swiped his fist across Joker's face like a club hitting a golf ball.

"Sir!" said one of Deathstroke's soldiers. "What should we do about the refug—?"

"Hang on," said Deathstroke. "I wanna see this…"

"You led them here?" Bruce yelled in Joker's face. " _You led them here?!_ You son of a _bitch!_ "

Bruce landed a punch directly on the side of Joker's face.

"How are you not _dead?!_ I held your body in my arms! You should be _dead!_ Superman _killed you!_ "

Joker spat some blood out of his mouth, then looked up at Bruce. "*Kaff kaff* Clayface…owed me…one."

" _Gahhh!_ "

With one final jab, Bruce knocked the Joker unconscious. He straightened up and stood over him, breathing heavily.

"Well," said Deathstroke. "That was entertaining."

"Call off your troops," Bruce said, shooting the commander a glare. "Leave these people alone. It's me you want—not them."

" _Actually,_ " said Deathstroke, "I'm here for _everyone._ You and your people are all fugitives from the law. Because not only is this a refugee camp, it's also _a resistance._ You went into Gotham and pulled a Robin Hood on a food truck recently, correct? Joker knew Draven, the guy who usually drives the truck. He spilled the beans to Joker a long time ago, back when he was…'civilized.' He wore a hoodie and a scarf to cover up his green hair and pale skin, he told me.

"Bruce Wayne—under the authority of me, Commander Slade Wilson, I place you under arrest. You _and_ your supporters. As you know, the commitment of any crime is only punishable…by _death._ " He raised his hand. "Men! Fire at wi— _Gah!_ "

At a blinding speed, Bruce leapt forward toward Deathstroke and swiped his ankle across his face, knocking his mask off. The commander stumbled backward, giving Bruce another opening, which he took. He threw a punch at him, but Slade put his hand up, effectively catching Bruce's fist.

"You've gotten _skinny,_ " he growled, "and old. When's the last time you had a serious hand-to-hand fight, huh? Three years? You're only setting yourself up for failure, Bruce."

"This camp is under _my_ protection," Bruce said, freeing his hand from Slade's. "I will never—"

 _Thwok!_

Slade's foot came at him like a bat out of the shadows. Bruce had absolutely no time to react. As it connected with his chin, his head flung backwards, and he was effortlessly knocked out.

Then…blackness.

 **Well, guys, you've probably been wondering where he is, and now he's finally coming. The next chapter will have Superman. And I'll tell you guys this: he's definitely not what you might expect…**


End file.
